Entombed Phoenix
by iPhone iNsomniac
Summary: His old life burned, his very soul consumed in flames. Yet Death takes interest in him, and decides to use him serve as entertainment. And there cannot be entertainment without an amusing struggle. A flame will die before Rock burns, but how will Rock contain a flame that refuses to do just that? Set in Iwa, Pre/During Third Shinobi War.
1. Prologue

**A Flame Burns Out**

**Warning: This chapter may be a little hard on those with very low tolerance for blood, pain, etc.**

_*Screeeeee*_

… was all I heard before a hammer blow to my shoulder knocked me to the floor. The tile of the hallway, usually so cool on bare feet, was now a bubbling, deformed mess that burned worse than the actual flames heating it from below. When I attempted to heave myself away from its now-painful caress, I found that the cause of my fall, a large pipe likely for the transportation of water if the steam still escaping from from its cracked surface was any indication, was lying across my back, holding me in place. Somehow remaining calm when I knew most people would panic, a useful talent I have always been thankful for, I lifted my torso from the floor to prevent further burning, though the increased pain screaming from my hands made it difficult not to yank them away from the remains of the floor. Arcing my back, I rolled the pipe down onto the back of my thighs, wincing as my newly bruised muscles protested and the jagged edges where the pipe burst from the boiling water cut into my flesh, while the remaining water poured out and scalded my skin, already baked from the dry and smoky air. Taking a moment to gather my strength, I hummed loudly in my head like I did when getting a shot, then pulled my right leg up under my body, wincing as new scrapes and burns added themselves to my patchwork of wounds. Quickly doing the same for my other leg, I breathed a sigh of relief as I was freed, and looked up.

Glancing hurriedly around, still maintaining my (admittedly odd) collected state of mind, I instantly ruled out the closest stairwell when I saw the cherry red glow coming from both the gap between the door and the floor and the handle. Turning away towards the other stairs, I felt a surge of relief when I saw no flames or large chunks of debris blocking my path. With my arms raised above my head to fend off the chunks of plaster tumbling down, I forced my aching body to move and my burning lungs to work, fighting off the overwhelming urge to hack as best I could, and continuing on even when I could no longer contain it. The flames seemed to chase me, licking playfully along just as they had in the fireplaces and campfires I so loved. Even as I limped as fast as my battered body would take me, my mind, always the stronger and faster of the two, observed how they seemed to beckon me from the sides, and from behind when I glanced back. Though I knew that they would consume me without pause, simply more fuel for their short, bright lives, I couldn't see them as something to be hated, of feared.

As I reached the stairs, pushing open door with its unpleasantly warm handle that further aggravated the still throbbing burns on my hands, I briefly wondered as to the cause of this extremely sudden blaze. Though it was early afternoon I'd been asleep in my dorm room, so I couldn't be completely sure, but I remembered an enormous, all consuming _sound _that reverberated within my skull, and seemed to shake the very building. When I rushed out, and saw everything crumbling around me and a blaze spreading towards me, I took off only to be downed by the pipe. Now, as I made my jarring way down the stairs, I had to fight to keep my balance as the shaking continued. From my room on the fifth floor, I had already traveled two stories, and only had two left before I could get to the ground floor and find a way out.

Forcing myself down another story in spite of my body that still bled sluggishly and throbbed with burns, I was forced to grasp the handrail as the building shook again, worse than anything since the original _whatever_ (some kind of explosion, I was almost sure). A crash from above was just enough warning for me to dive forward as what looked to be _the entire building _crashed down on the place I was originally standing. But it didn't stop there. More and more debris came down, pipes and blocks of cement, furniture and flaming pieces of random junk that once had some use in someone's dorm room. The rubble spilled over the stairs before the stairs themselves collapsed, and finally panicking, I covered my head as fire and stone rained down on me…

…before opening my eyes after the first impacts apparently knocked me out.

I've always regretted that.

I couldn't feel anything from below my left hip, but only because when I looked, I saw that the chunk of unrecognizable material that had crushed my entire left leg and half of my pelvis was on fire and had burned the parts of me it touched black. When I looked at the piece of cement that had cleanly detached my right leg at the knee as it fell down to land a few steps below me, the pain hit me. And I **screamed**. For one moment that stretched into infinity, that was all there was. The pain, and the wail of an animal that knows it has been killed, but hasn't died quite yet. When I was forced to stop and breathe, I blearily noted without care that somehow the rubble had created a bubble barely wider than my torso. And then I promptly screamed again.

I screamed until my smoke-damaged voice gave out. I cried until my already dry eyes could no longer produce tears. And when the tongues of fire finally came to me, I sobbed with relief upon seeing their friendly, dancing selves. Though my broken body surely screamed, my mind had been broken by the previous pain, and I simply welcomed the sharp sting that brought nothing in its wake.

My last sight in this world was of fingers of flame reaching to take me away.

**How was it? I appreciate any insight, advice, etc., as I am a new writer who will surely make some mistake. Ideas are always welcome as well! Thx, iPiN.**


	2. Chapter 1

**From The Ashes**

I saw worlds burning.

In the flames, I saw worlds born. I watched strange creatures grow, and learn, before they began to form groups. Those groups became tribes, and then villages, and finally whole cities. Civilization was born. Technology bloomed, and governments rose. Children were taught history, and science, and grew up to invent greater things to contribute to society. Sometimes they built transportation, for those that couldn't move easily themselves. Others contributed to medicine, or power sources. Sometimes, they built things I have never understood, because their species spoke mind to mind. Others, who as far as I could tell were human, built things I vaguely recognized from my own world, like phones that were worn on wrists, or planes that flew using floating ores. In the flames, I saw Life.

In the flames, I saw worlds die. Cities grew, and grew, and grew, until they could no longer support themselves and fell to rioting. Governments became corrupt, and greedy, and those that were not wiped out by other, larger governments were eventually destroyed by their own oppressed citizenry. Plagues wiped out some, and others wiped out themselves with bio-engineered viruses. In one of the telepathic civilizations, everyone all collapsed at once and never got up. Nuclear war wiped out several. In the flames, I saw Death.

And in the flames, Death saw me.

**_"_****Little lost soul, what are you doing in those flames?"**

His voice was simultaneously the softest, subtlest whisper and the loudest, most obvious shout. Power filled every word, yet every word spoke seemed reminiscent of an endless void. It both unnerved me and instilled in me the greatest dread, even more than the dread I felt when I realized I would soon be dead, while somehow managing to sing a soothing melody, one of peace and quiet, undisturbed sleep. Though I tried to answer, I found myself unable, as I was nothing now, just a soul burning endlessly.

"**You burn, yet you feel no pain. You are dead, yet you exist. How interesting…"**

He smiled, yet with his white face and hair, horns, and a mouth filled sharp teeth, it did nothing to reassure. And yet, it did. It reassured that soon all pain, all suffering, would end. It was nearly enough to distract from the glinting blade help in his pale, clawed hand. I tried to convey a shrug, and though I once again failed, his smile only grew, as if he understood.

**"****I shall take you then, little one. Not onto the beyond, no," **here he somehow understood my raised eyebrow, or what would have been my raised eyebrow, **"I will give you new life. A life in my own personal world. My favorite world, which is full of all sorts of interesting things. A world where Death is never far away. Yes, I will place you there, little soul on fire."**

He moved back, and pointed a single bone-white finger at me. When he did, the flames roared in response, rising up and swirling around me, hiding him from view. The last thing I heard before I heard nothing at all, was his strange voice…

**"****I shall see you soon."**

I still hear nothing, and I still see red. But the red is a softer red, and I can feel again, though its only the slight brush of liquid all over my body. For a while, I was so engrossed in the return of my ability to feel (which made me wonder why I could still see before), that by the time I came out of that blissful state, I could already hear muffled noises. As I listened, and began to realize that the sounds were actually voices, I made another wonderful realization. I had a body! I could barely move it, and my senses were subpar to the extreme compared to my former body, but still, a body! Was this Death's doing? Why did he want to give me a new body, and a new life? That kind of went against his job description. While pondering this, I noticed that the space I was in was growing smaller, as I could touch the curved walls with the tips of my limbs when I stretched to the extent of my limited mobility. As time went on, I could touch the walls with ease, and soon they were actually a bit too close. Though they were soft, and gave when I kicked them (my arms were still too weak), they continued to grow closer. It was then that I made the connection.

New life. New, helplessly weak body. Warm, soft walls that closed in around me as time went on, and voices, one of which I had heard often and more clearly than the others, and could even identify (though tentatively) as female.

I was a fetus in the womb of some woman.

I immediately adopted my detached mindset, and began to analyze what I knew. Death had said that he would put me in his personal, favorite world. Though I could have seen it in the flames, during that expanse where time seemed to have no solid meaning, I somehow doubted it. Since I heard voices, I wasn't part of a telepathic race, and both the voices and my new body felt human, so far as my feeble senses could ascertain. I couldn't move my head to see, as it was enormous compared to my teenage body, but that was to be expected of a baby, so no clues from that.

While my thoughts were occupied, the… womb I was inhabiting was steadily growing smaller, though I knew logically that I was actually growing larger. But when it violently contracted, I knew that it was growing smaller, and quickly. In fact, it seemed to be pushing me in one direction. _Oh god, _I thought, _here it comes._ I was being born.

It was an altogether unpleasant experience, being moved by the muscles all around me slowly and jerkily towards a small opening of light. I did my best to angle my head towards that opening, as I knew that was how it was supposed to work, and despite my still undecided feelings about my rebirth, I didn't want to cause harm to myself or my future caretaker. Eventually, my head was at the opening, and I felt something that shocked me physically as much as my situation did mentally. For the first time since that fateful fire, I felt _cold_. At first it was just the top of my head, but soon, it spread as more of my body was forced from the opening (I felt I was being very mature about this whole thing, but there was no way I was going to admit to exactly what it was _while I was still in it_). I took sharp, short gasps as my new lungs began to move for the first time, and I looked around in desperation, trying to see the details of my situation.

Unfortunately, though my new eyes could make out colors, the actual shapes of all of the objects around me where obscured and blurry, similar to how things looked at a distance without my contacts in my old body, except it was for everything, and beyond a certain distance, even vague outlines eluded comprehension. It was at that point that my wandering mind realized that I was being wrapped in what I presumed to be a blanket judging by its soft texture, and I realized that the few words I could make out were sharp, almost frantic in nature. Though I was swiftly moved out of the mostly white room, the shouts that followed me out and the white blobs that moved in clued me into the meaning behind those urgent tones. Even as I experienced a sinking feeling in my gut, I realized that it wasn't entirely from the weight of my suspicions. Floating towards me, somehow startlingly clear even to my underdeveloped eyes, was Death. As he moved to the side of the person carrying me down the hall (who if I had to guess, was female), he turned those blank eyes that managed to convey amusement on me and said in his whispering, extraordinarily loud voice,

"**I told you I would see you soon, did I not, little lost one? I have named you such, and as such you shall remain for a time. You were given life, in an empty shell that would have been birthed without it, but I couldn't make it too easy for you. After all, there must be a balance. You were given life as a child, but since you are not one, neither shall you have one of the greatest things that defines a child. You shall have no parents to guide you, until you find your own way in this world."**

With that, he passed beyond my sight, even as I squirmed in my bundle to try to see him (though to this day, I still search for a way to classify that being, I call it a him because he is shorter than she). But floating after me, like a chilling north wind, his parting words reached my ears, as if he's stooped down only inches away,

**"****But your weight on the balance is great, and this is not enough. One day, I will have a task for you. A method to repay your debt. So grow strong, and burn bright. For if you fail, other, less pleasant procedures will have to be implemented…"**

The blankets did nothing to stop the chill that raced up my spine.

As I'd inferred from Death's lovely words of inspiration and wisdom, my mother passed away during childbirth. I was placed in an orphanage, and taken care of by assistants who, from what I could tell using facial expressions and my slowly growing understanding of the language (total immersion combined with strong motivation and no distractions for my admittedly always intelligent mind worked wonders) were simultaneously grateful for a quiet, easily cared for child, and uneasy about my nearly total silence and constant, sharp-eyed scrutiny. I cried out when my inability to use the bathroom by myself forced me to soil my diapers, and then only in short, sharp bursts that weren't truly wails, which ceased the instant someone came to check on me. I communicated similarly my needs for food and drink, but was otherwise silent. I had no reason to gurgle or laugh, or to cry simply to cry.

Time passed swiftly, as despite my adult mind, an infant's body needs extra sleep, and as I was unable to do much else, I saw no reason to put it off. Once my body could support my weight and obey commands to a higher degree, the transition from from useless to moderately independent, was startlingly swift. Within a few weeks of being able to crawl, I had relearned how to walk and had potty trained myself despite being only as tall as the rim of the toilet. Though I can let go of my pride when I realize it is being more harmful than not, diapers were still horribly degrading when one was perfectly aware of what they were.

To be quite honest, laying around in a crib was desperately dull, and I was burning with curiosity about this new world. The only thing I had been able to determine so far was that the level of technology seemed to be nearly on par with my original world, and that particular lack of knowledge was badly in need of rectification. So it was with picture book in hand that I set about getting one of the caretakers to teach me to read. As it turns out, my tried and true method of getting help from an expert when said help was available to you failed me this once, as perhaps I should have looked over the book myself beforehand. As it was…

*Caretaker's POV (_3rd Person_)*

"Akasuki-san?"

The polite, quiet question that sounded somehow _wrong _in a child's normally high, bright voice instantly caused my muscles to stiffen slightly, before I forced them to relax and pasted on a smile as I turned to who I knew was waiting and responded with a hopefully convincing tone of cheer when I asked, "Yes, Arata-kun?"

The strange little child before her had never done anything wrong, never caused trouble or been needy. But that was part of the problem. Even though he was obviously highly intelligent, he was still a child. Though she couldn't remember exactly, she knew he was no older than two years of age, maybe less, his intelligence and the sheer number of children at the orphanage making placing his age difficult. Regardless, he was simply too young to have not caused any trouble _at all,_ and he had only needed help for anything other than height problems since he had begun too walk, which also occurred strangely, far too swiftly and completely. Normal children simply didn't walk like they had been doing it for years, without stumbling or falling, once they had originally learned how. Even the way he spoke, with that strange sense of _maturity _in his immature voice, caused all of the workers at the orphanage to glance at him askew, and ask each other what they thought of the odd child.

At the moment, he was holding up a picture book, an expression of determination that _should_ have looked perfectly natural on his otherwise plain face, and asking, "Will you help me? I don'… don't know how."

Forcefully ignoring the way he had carefully re-articulated his mispronounced word, she maintained her smile and answered, "Of course, Arata-kun. Sit down beside me and I'll read while you follow along. Do you know the alphabet yet?"

At his nod, she began the story, a relatively standard children's book for Iwagakure, a story about a Rock-nin who protected the village using his Earth ninjutsu and, of course, his Will of Stone, the immovable will of all Shinobi of Iwagakure that drives them to protect their home. Normally, children grew starry-eyed with wonder, and would promptly forget anything else as they bombarded her with queries about the shinobi that were portrayed as legendary ninja protectors. But since when had anything been been completely normal about this child?

Sure, his eyes had went wide, but that was before she even got to the first fight. In fact, it happened right when she said Iwagakure. While he may have never heard the name of his village, as most people knew where they lived and felt no need to share such common knowledge without prompting (a rarity from this particular child), that didn't quite explain his reaction. And though he did immediately question her about shinobi, his tone was one of almost fearful hesitance. And, strangest of all the strange things this strange boy had ever done, upon seeing the close-up of a Rock headband engraved with the village symbol, he had shed a single tear. His face was frozen as that tear trickled down his cheek, and she was frozen as well, for even as a baby, he had never cried, never shed actual tears. But as the tear finally dropped from his cheek, and landed in the center of the symbol on the page, he burst out laughing.

On and on he laughed hysterically, while Akasuki, still frozen, simply stared at another never-before-seen sight. Even when she called his name (_"Arata-kun? Arata-kun?!"_), he ignored her. Even when she lifted him up and carried him to bed, something he had made clear was not to be done once he had learned to walk, no matter the circumstances, he only giggled uncontrollably.

Later, as she placed the book back on the shelf it had came from, she was so distracted she never took notice of the small, circular scorch mark in the center of the page it was last open to, exactly where the tear had fallen.

*_Arata's POV*_

Later, still chortling internally in a manner even I recognized to be more than a little mad, one thought stood out in my mind.

_Of course this stupidly absurd, dangerous world would be a favorite of Death's._


	3. Chapter 2

**Controlled Blaze**

So I was in a world that was a least similar to the manga/anime _Naruto_. I accepted that little fact pretty much at face value, considering what I had been through already. But what now I was presented with a whole slew of new problems and questions. Exactly _how _similar to the manga/anime was this world, and if so, which one? I'd read the manga in its entirety up until my _exit _from my previous world, but I had only vague notions about what happened in the anime. Also, when was it? I had absolutely no clue, as I had never even been outside of the orphanage grounds and my access to books was restricted by my inability to read (note to self: check up on Akasuki to make sure she doesn't cause trouble over my little 'episode'). Obviously my first course of action would be to learn how to do so, and as such secure my access to important knowledge, as the manga, though it went into detail on some subjects, was not adequate preparation to actually _live_ as a member of a hidden village, let alone the Iwa.

And that was another obstacle, the mere fact that I'd been born in Iwa. It was by far the most unelaborated-upon Hidden Village of the Great Five. Other than mere mention, the village wasn't touched upon in the manga until the Fourth Shinobi War, and even then, it was almost entirely focused upon a few members of the village rather than the village as a whole. I was riding blind on this one, and I hated not knowing.

Should I even become a shinobi? My first reaction was a "DUH! Who wouldn't want to be that awesome?" That was quickly followed by my logical side responding (Quite snidely, I might add. My logical side could be a bit bitchy when it was upset.) "Only anyone who doesn't want an average life expectancy of _thirty_!" Then I calmed down and started thinking it through. On the one hand, I had no intentions to die again anytime soon. While Death seemed to imply that I was a special case, I did not want to repeat my ordeal in those flames. I also have never killed. While I have no qualms about the death penalty, as some people are scum (I'm not judging them for their crimes. I'm just in favor of helping them get to their date in court a bit sooner.), I also knew that I would not be killing only monsters and villains. I would be expected to kill, maim, and/or torture whoever I was ordered to, be they old or young, criminals or complete innocents that someone who hired the village wanted something from. Could I really do that? Throw away my ethics and morals to survive? I doubt that the conditioning and propaganda used to prepare the average child would be as effective on someone in my unique situation.

On the other hand, did I even have a choice? Death also mentioned that he would have some sort of task for me to complete, and he specifically told me to gain strength. Becoming a shinobi was the most obvious way to gain strength in this world. If I don't become strong enough to repay my debt to the 'balance' Death spoke of, I would regret it. The chill I had felt down my spine left little room for doubt in that regard. Also, Death might not be the only one pressuring me to choose that particular path. I've already lived nearly a year and a half in this world acting in ways that I'm sure have been noted by at least the orphanage caretakers. They would surely mention it to the ninja recruiters in a few years. Of course, now that I knew what to look for, that time when the group of older kids were taken out to have a 'talk about plans for the future' and some hadn't come back made more sense. It was too bad I never spoke to any of the children if I could help it, otherwise I may have found out sooner.

_Well,_ I thought as I opened my eyes from my 'nap', _why make a decision now?_ I still have at least a couple years even by ROOT standards (actually, Iwa isn't so bad when I realize that Danzo was reassuringly far away), so why not take the time to gather some information, and to see how things change? I might end up having the decision made for me. Perhaps not the best idea, but I've always been a bit too reactive in nature anyways. Standing up, I stretched my little toddler body and went to find Akasuki. Proactive I am not, but neither am I stupid. She needed to be dealt with somehow, and I still needed to learn to read, dang it! I get so bored!

*Akasuki's POV*

"Akasuki-san?"

This time, she was completely unable to control the stiffening of her shoulders, and as she turned with an uneasy smile she just _knew_ he had caught it by the glint in those blue eyes. Had those eyes been on an adult face, she would have been blushing, but they weren't. They were in the face of a child, one that wouldn't have looked out of place amongst the sea of other brown-haired children so common in Iwa, had it not been for that all-too-knowing look it wore before it was swiftly, _deliberately_, wiped away and replaced with an innocent gaze. Reminding herself of her duty, she put aside her feelings and asked, "Arata-kun? Are you feeling better now?"

Large, puzzled eyes looked up at her, "Wha'da… What do you mean, Akasuki-san? I haven't been sick."

"RIght. But you've been really…quiet since we last talked." And indeed he had. In the two days since the 'incident', the normally taciturn child had become even more withdrawn, muttering to himself in some strange manner and barely responding with monosyllabic grunts. If it had kept up any longer, she was going to go talk to someone about what had happened. She was no expert, but that kind of behavior from a child, coupled with his usual oddness, was disturbing.

He laughed sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck as he replied, "Yeah, sorry about that. Can we just forget it ever happened? I'd like to try to learn to read again, and I wan'… want you to show me."

Blinking, because a) he sounded far too much like an adult keeping secrets just then and b) he was actually requesting _her_? She'd never interacted with him a great deal, and he'd never shown any particular feelings towards, well, _anybody_ who didn't bother him. It was shocking, and she wasn't sure how to feel about it. On one hand, it was great that he was finally acting a bit normal, and looking to someone for guidance. On the other hand, he was just so weird, and why did it have to be her?!

Sighing in resignation, she said, "Alright Arata-kun, I won't bring it up (because she'd been doing so well shoving it to the back of her mind and forgetting it ever happened, she didn't want to undo all of her progress), and I'll help you learn to read. Just let me finish this, and then I'll come help pick out a book for you to read," _one not about ninjas, _she added silently.

The boy only smiled.

~ One year later~

*Arata's POV*

I was sitting against the trunk of a tree, in a little hollow created by its raised roots, reading. Though we lived under a mountain, small holes that could easily be covered by Earth ninjutsu let in light enough that plants could grow where it landed. It was winter in the Land of Earth, yet I sat on the cool ground with only a raggedy shorts and shirt combo to protect my young body from the chill. Ever since I'd arrived in this world, I haven't been cold. I mean, I've felt the cold, but I haven't felt _cold._ I was thinking it had something to do with the fact that after being on fire for a while, cold simply didn't bother me anymore. It was unexpected, but in no way unappreciated. No one else liked being out in this weather, and no one expected me to be out either, so I was left in relative peace by both the children and the adults of the orphanage.

"I thought I might find you out here. Don't you ever get cold, Arata-kun?"

_No one, that is, except Akasuki, _I thought wryly.

Ever since teaching me to read this new language, Akasuki had decided that it was her responsibility to 'take care of me' in some fashion. She hounded me to socialize with the other children, dragged me to dinner, and hunted me down like a particularly stubborn bloodhound when I'd disappeared for too long. She also tried to help me 'develope', not realizing that my mind had long since passed the stages my body suggested I should be in.

_Though perhaps that isn't entirely true here, _I thought as Akasuki grabbed me by the hand (which I had told her time and time again _not to do_) and dragged me towards the orphanage babbling on about dinner and how I need to spend more time playing with the other children. I was thinking back through my memories of reading about a five-year-old Kakashi graduating from the Academy, and my memories of five-year-olds in my original world, and they quite simply failed to match up. Kakashi wasn't the only example of course. A young Zabuza mature enough to slaughter his entire class with the forethought that his deed would deter future deaths in the long run by ending the Bloody Mist's graduation exam. A four-year-old Itachi on a battlefield, and later killing his entire family at age 13 for his village, save his brother. A three-year-old Hinata forcing herself to live up to her father's expectations, tiny body struggling to follow the motions of the Gentle Fist…

_Of course. The Gentle Fist uses chakra. All of them had chakra by then. Chakra enhances anything, so why should the mind be any different? _Struck by this thought, I didn't offer any resistance as Akasuki led me inside and sat me down next to some other, shriekier, toddlers. Grimacing a bit, I dug into the plain gruel she put in front of me, much neater than the other members of my (physical) age group, lamenting over the somewhat spoiled existence I led in regards to food in my past life. The orphanage was stereotypically overfilled and underfunded, and simply couldn't afford the superior quality food available to me as a member of a first-world country.

Later that night, laying awake in my cot listening to the other children sleep around me, I continued to ponder the idea of how chakra affects people, especially their minds. _Shinobi are regularly shown to be able to think and plan much faster than the average person. Chakra likely is the cause of that as well. I wonder how chakra would affect my mind, since it has already lived and developed far beyond when chakra is normally first introduced. Would the chakra affect my mind, as in me, or my physical brain, the still growing organ that is in my skull? Would it force me to mature beyond maturity, or would it simply improve my thinking and learning speed? If it's the first, I honestly don't know what it would mean for me. If it's the second, well, I was very intelligent, if not somewhat unmotivated, in my first life. Being even more so could only be a boon to whatever unknown task Death will set me at some point._

Deciding that the risk was worth it, I resolved to start looking into chakra and how to obtain it for myself. Tomorrow, that is; this body needed sleep more than my mature one, and had none of the problems actually falling asleep despite my mind's protests. With that last thought, I drifted off to sleep.

_~18 Months later~_

_*Akasuki's POV*_

"You know, you should consider becoming a shinobi, Arata-kun."

The boy (she could never call him anything else in her head) stiffened for a moment, a slight tensing that would have likely been unnoticeable to her had she not spent so much more time around him than any of the other orphanage workers, before he carefully sat down the book on meditation. A few weeks ago, after expressing interest in the subject months before, he had finally asked her where he could find some books about chakra, and she, having grown acclimated to his less childlike qualities, she had gotten him some extremely basic books on the subject available to civilians. She rationalized it to herself as an acceptable compromise, since he had joined in on a few of the games the other children began to play as they grew older. He actually seemed to enjoy hide-and-seek, and was quite devious in his choice of hiding place.

He turned to face her, expression carefully blank on his generically cute face, an odd contradiction for a face that seemed designed to smile brightly. "Why?" he asked simply.

Laughing nervously, she answered, "Well, you know that shinobi are really strong right? They also protect our village, and are really great. They're heroes! You can be like that too! In fact, the shinobi recruiter is coming tomorrow to look for someone who might make a good shinobi. He seemed really interested when we spoke about you! I bet he will want to talk to you himself? Who knows, maybe…" here she trailed off, noticing how pale is face suddenly went and how his wide eyes were now fixed on her with a look one might call horror in them.

"What did you tell him?" came his voice, barely a whisper, and she leaned closer, not sure that she'd heard correctly. "What?" she asked, but the answer she got wasn't quite what she was expecting.

"What did you TELL HIM?" the boy screamed at the end, eyes now fixed on hers with a burning rage. She stumbled back, confused and to be honest, frightened. While he had never behaved like a normal child, neither had he ever been at all rebellious or disrespectful. This, suddenly speaking as if they were equals and she had done something she had no right to do, was shocking, and it was likely this shock that caused her to answer with complete honesty.

*Arata's POV*

"I-I told him how you were smarter than the other children, and didn't like to play with them that much. How you were always interested in learning, especially about chakra. And how you always seemed so much more mature than the other children." Akasuki stated anxiously, no doubt wondering what had caused my sudden rage. Not that I cared what she thought too much at the moment.

I was _furious._ This stupid, stupid woman! How dare she! I had trusted her! I spoke more like an adult around her because she seemed like she cared at least a little, and as much as I hated to admit it, I could only act like a child so much. She was my outlet, and I, like a fool, had forgotten how she saw me as I grew more comfortable with her. Looking back, I realized that as my vocabulary grew and I was able to speak at a level reminiscent of my old self, I had unconsciously come to view our conversations as simply one young adult speaking to another, when to her, it was always her speaking to the oddly smart _child_ she took care of at the orphanage. Still, I had thought that she would have realized at least that I was not your ordinary child, unable to make my own decisions! As a child, a _true _child, I had always teared up when upset with those I cared about. But I wasn't a child anymore, and it seemed I would have to spell that particular fact out for Akasuki.

"And you never even thought to ask me what _I _wanted when you were deciding my future?!" Here she opened her mouth, overcoming her shock to offer what was likely a denial, but I wasn't about to let her try and justify this. "And yes, you _were _deciding my future. We as a nation are poor right now, because of the war, right? I haven't gotten ahold of any history books yet, since I'm just a _child,_ but I hear it mentioned every once in a while, along with the fact that our economy isn't getting any better. Do you really think that a shinobi village will let a possible genius like you described _not _be a shinobi when things are this bad? They will watch me now. I either have to act like an idiot well enough to fool people trained to see through deception, or become one myself. And it's all because you didn't think to ask me before you picked things out for me. I bet you even told him the things I asked you not to talk about, didn't you?!" Her guilty expression spoke volumes, before a spark of righteous indignation lit up on her face.

"Arata-kun, you can't talk to me so rudely! I was just doing what I thought was best for you, because I honestly think you would be best as a shinobi, and besi-" Here I interrupted her, my anger boiling over my usual control, my voice coming out as an icy hiss despite the squeakiness of my approximately three-year-old voice (No one knew my exact birth date save the hospital records).

"Don't tell me what I can and can't do! Has it not sunk in yet?! I am not your average child, you said I was more mature yourself! Yet you still presume to so _rudely _decide my future for me?! And what exactly do you mean, I would be best as a shinobi?!" Here she stuttered, and my anger rose again as I realized that my suspicions were right when she said, "We-Well I just meant, y-you always seemed a bit _different,_ and I figured that if anyone could be a shinobi, you could."

Even as she finished, and I prepared to verbally rip into her again, my rage left me, and the only thing left to fill the hollow space within me was a tiredness, and an overpowering urge for some peace. Right now, I was in no mood to deny myself anything, but as I turned to walk away, I felt I needed to say just a few more words.

"I trusted you, above all others here, with my true self. I let you see a glimpse of the real me, and you repay me by selling me out. Not only that, when you say I would be best as a shinobi, you don't mean that I would be best as a protector of the village, a hero who saves lives, do you? No," and here a gave her one last look over my shoulder, and let the sadness, the bite of betrayal from someone you considered at least somewhat of a friend, shine through, "you meant that I would be best as a killer, a murderer who can smile while cutting down the innocent, the kind of person you imagine when you speak the word shinobi and your voice trembles that small bit. Don't think I never noticed. All because I'm a bit different, you think I would make a good monster."

With that, I left, ignoring the gasp as my words struck home, and the slight sob as I turned the corner of the building. I was so tired, and I had forgotten the book on meditation I had started before all of this. But I knew what I wanted, what I _needed_, if I wanted to forget for a while. Books weren't going to cut it right now.

~_Later~_

I breathed in slowly, counting to seven as I did so, before repeating the process as I exhaled. I counted to seven once again before repeating the process, all the while keeping my eyes on the flickering candle flame before me. I had swiped it from the kitchen, not even caring if anyone noticed its absence. Now it sat before me, shrinking from the cold, but surviving as I had chosen the most secluded corner of the orphanage grounds, a place of twisting tunnels and small, relatively useless caves that led to no where, and had existed naturally before the larger cave the village existed in was transformed to suit the needs of the shinobi. Even when it was warm out, few tried to venture into it, and during the cold winter months, where even the natural hot springs failed to warm the far reaches of Iwagakure, none would do so. Horror stories of children getting lost and the usually watchful eyes of the caretakers prevented most children from exploring, and the caves had no sharp drops or animals to make it dangerous, so the few times a child was lost in the darkness, he or she was easily retrieved after a few hours, usually crying and swearing to never go back as the caretakers berated the child on his or her foolishness. Since my unique situation circumvented all of the usual deterrents, they served only to offer me a great deal of privacy, which I had been careful never to use overtly before now.

As I gazed into the flame, maintaining my breathing pattern, I did my best to let go of all thoughts. Right now, I just needed to calm down. And the flame helped. It reminded me of that time I spent simply existing, yet not, as I watched. It reminded me of when I died, and that this was a second chance, and all the differences that made. It still seemed to be friendly, even though I knew what it had the capability of becoming, if given the chance. As I watched it, it seemed to grow, and I lost myself within it. That is, until, I felt the flame smoldering within _me._

It was small, compressed within my navel, a shining ember that called to me. I could feel it, and the way it desperately desired to burn, as fire was meant to. All it needed was for me to reach for it, to blow on that ember, and bring it flaring to life. And that's what I did. I wasn't thinking like I usually do. I had reached the point I rarely got to, where I was in tune with myself and could just _feel,_ and that's what I did, what drove me to reach into myself and grasp that flame within me.

And then it _burned._ It blazed outwards, shining a brilliant white at the very center, with blue flames spiraling outwards before spilling into the rest of my body. The flames burned at a more normal heat as they flowed into my limbs, as if following a stream of oil, and burned first yellow, then as they touched my skin, they burned a reddish-orange. Then the flames spilled out. For just a moment, I watched in a state of simultaneous awe and apathy, simply observing as the flames seemed to spill from every pore on my body, yet somehow causing no pain, and the candle flame roared up in response.

However, the flames quickly receded, sucking back into my skin and settling there, smoldering again, but now ready to burn at a moment's notice. The candle flame receded as well, though the candle was barely a nub, most of the wax melting away from the sudden heat. I simply stared, mind blank for a moment, before I released the breath I had been holding, and then the exhaustion slammed into me. I groaned, before I realized exactly what had just happened. I had unlocked my chakra, and somehow, I had the idea that my chakra nature was _beyond _fire. And that little stunt had both exhausted me, and burned quite a few large holes in my clothes. While I had forced myself to become accustomed to bathing without privacy, even being bathed before I was able to do it myself, I certainly did _not _want to have to explain this. So with a sigh, I set off back towards the orphanage, planning how to sneak in and change, and how I would dispose of my current clothes.

It seemed luck was with me, as I returned at dusk, while everyone was sitting down for the last meal of the day and wouldn't be hard to avoid, but before the nightly headcount. I was able to sneak in with ease, and got changed. I didn't bother going to dinner, instead swiping some bread one of the children had wrapped up and hidden yesterday. He had stole it from the kitchens anyway, and he was a brat, so I had no qualms, especially after the day I'd had. After that, I went to sleep. Tomorrow, the shinobi recruiter would be here, and it would assured to be an unpleasant day for me thanks to Akasuki's meddling. Normally I would have been unable to sleep with so much on my mind, but the meditation and subsequent chakra expenditure had calmed me down and exhausted me enough to let me drift off to sleep…

**So what do you think? Please let me know, much like the awesome Noldea135 and JollyLoser did when they reviewed. Any review is good, as long as you offer a reason why you think the way you do. And for the few people who have read this so far, I am very sorry for the long wait for this update. I can only say this is my first fic, so I am inexperienced, and I am determined not to rush and to make it as good as I can. Thank you all for reading, and if you want to make a guess about anything, please do. I would love to see what you think, and you might give me some great ideas! Thanks again, iPiN**


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